Thanks to Deceit
by chexbb
Summary: Remus encounters a mysterious stranger on his way to Dumbledore's funeral. The stranger gives him a much needed perspective, but his advice seems a little too pointed.


Disclaimer: Well, obviously.

A/N: I know, I have a story in the works, but I was suddenly inspired and this came so easily!

Thanks to Deceit

Remus Lupin sat down on a barstool at the Three Broomsticks. It had, indeed, been a trying week. He hadn't felt this tired, this world weary since that week when he had found out about James, Lily, Sirius, and Peter—his best friends—dead or worse than dead, all within days with each other. He had tried to find out what had happened to little Harry, who was just learning how to walk, who was just beginning to learn to say "Wema!" after much coaxing and many repetitions of "Remus, Harry! Remus!" But it seemed the child, like the rest, had disappeared. Remus couldn't blame Dumbledore for not keeping him in the know about Harry all those years ago. He had been performing a similar task at that time, following a werewolf pack. He was younger, more volatile. And the times were so uncertain, so unsound that you barely knew who you could give your real name.

And yet, amidst all the insecurity, there had been Dumbledore. He had been a pillar of support. You could trust Dumbledore. He made one feel safe and hopeful. Lupin had been sad for poor young Harry, but he knew he was in good hands. Lupin had lost so much hope when he had lost his friends, but he had one comfort—there was Dumbledore. The man had it all: perspective, wisdom, that Gryffindor courage, and power. Oh, did he have power.

And now he was gone. Dumbledore's gone. Remus had to remind himself constantly. He was gone and the funeral was today. In just a few hours he would bury his teacher, mentor, and his friend. His last friend. Well, besides _her. _

And she would be there too. She, with her red eyes and mousy brown hair, a mere shadow of the Tonks he—the Tonks he cared very deeply for. Yes, that was all. He _cared _for her. He knew exactly what would happen. She would cry again, she would beg again, and he would die again, reminded of what he could never have, what he could never give her, and what she deserved.

Remus was absorbed in these thoughts as he felt a presence settle next to him. He heard the man order a Butterbeer and a shot of firewhiskey. Remus Lupin was not a drinking man. He came to the Three Broomsticks more for the vague sense of company that it gave him. But at that moment, he too felt like ordering something stronger.

"What a week, eh?"

Remus was surprised to hear the man speak. He had made an understatement, indeed. Remus did not turn his head to respond.

"Yes, it has been quite a week."

Again, an understatement. He now turned to examine his companion. He was an old, weathered man with a grim expression. _Practically a mirror, _Remus thought. He looked to be someone of Mad-Eye's generation. Yet, as the man reached for his drink and turned to face Lupin, there was an unexpected spryness which made Remus question his original analysis. Still, Lupin could find no other feature which would further his doubts, beside perhaps the odd, shining _almost Sirius-like _glint behind the despair in the older man's eyes.

"You're here for the funeral as well, I suppose," he stated.

Remus nodded, "Yes, for the funeral, but I don't know if I can work up the nerve to go."

"And why is that, young man?" the man asked, having fully abandoned his drink and now fully facing Remus.

Remus laughed bitterly, "I am far from young, sir."

The touched his nose wisely, "Age is but another label, m'boy. Another label, another excuse for sourness. I think we can all agree that despite his age, Dumbledore was far too young when he left us."

Remus was surprised at the man's logic. It felt a little too close to home, a little too applicable to his situation with Nymphadora. And yet, he found himself agreeing with it. What did his age have to do with anything, anyway? If Dumbledore was too young to die and young enough to have hope—then wasn't he young enough too?  
_Don't go there, Moony. Don't even try it. _And yet, that nagging voice would not leave him, _Age is but another label. _

The man spoke again. "I suppose it's the finality of it that's troubling you. It will be hard to bury Dumbledore and admit that he's gone."

"Yes of course," said Remus, but surprising himself, he began to expand. Somehow, this anonymous stranger seemed so trustworthy and wise. "But there will be people there—reminders…"

"Reminders of Dumbledore?"

"Of what Dumbledore's death means!" Lupin finally burst and could feel himself overflowing, but there was no way to control it, "If Dumbledore can die, well, who can't? Who won't? The war is only going to get worse and without Dumbledore, can any of us really expect to live? Is it worth it—to be attached, to love someone… to set up yours or their heart for the breaking because odds are, they way things are going, one of you is going to feel the pain of loss. I never want to feel that again and I never, _never _want her to feel that."

Remus could feel himself almost shaking with relief from finally saying the truth of his feelings without the constant battle of shouting over, "I don't care! I don't care!" However, upon realizing what he had just admitted, he stared at the floor, ashamed. Here Dumbledore was—dead, and all he could think on was her.

"Ah, so this is about a woman is it?" the man asked.

Remus nodded, continuing to look at the floor.

"Does she love you?"  
Remus raised his eyes and looked straight into the eyes of the stranger. "Yes," he stated. And he knew it was true. God, he wished it wasn't.

"And do you love her?"

Remus did not break eye contact. The eyes of the old man narrowed shrewdly—he could see something almost like hope in them—and Remus knew it would be futile to lie.

"Yes. Yes, I love her."

The old man smiled at Remus and turned away. Once again, there was the surprising spryness. Remus thought the conversation had ended, but with eyes fixed ahead, the man inquired of Remus,

"Then would it make a difference if one of you died?"

"What?" Remus did not understand.

"If you never let yourself love her or if you never let her love you, would it make her death any less painful?"

"No," Remus admitted, "But if I were to die, it might make it easier for her to move on. Wouldn't it be easier for her to lose a bitter and distant old friend than a lover?"

"And for her to have a lifetime of regrets and day dreams of what-might-have-been? Think of all the wonderful things that came from loves and losses. If Lily and James Potter had thought, "Our life is too unstable at the current moment to love, marry, or have children—let's give it all up!" Well, we wouldn't have Harry, would we? And who knows where Voldemort would be now."

Lupin's thinking was too clouded by emotion to consider the man's rather unusual familiarity with the Potters. _Age is but a label… a lifetime of what-might have beens… the danger… wonderful things can come from loves and losses… _

The old man, seeing Lupin's rather shocked and wondering expression, seemed to think that his duty had been done. He got up quickly and turned to go.

"Good luck, sir. My best wishes for your happiness," and then, with a sprightly movement, he made his way towards the door.

Lupin shook himself out of his shock. He looked up. The man was gone. He wondered at the conversation. _It was so personal, so pointed, so, _he realized, _needed. _Remus turned to watch the man exit the Three Broomsticks. The mysterious stranger did not turn around again and walked with strange quickness. Lupin continued to observe his wise savior and was about to inquire of Rosmerta the name of the man when he saw.

The man tripped.

"Bugger it," he proclaimed as he righted himself and practically ran away.

Remus threw a few coins on the table and lept after him.

"Excuse me, sir! Sir!"

The man did not pause. He continued his swift retreat. Remus thanks the Gods that his long, gangly legs were finally coming in handy. He caught up to the man just after he had ducked into an alley and with more physicality than usual, Remus pulled the man back.

"Young man!" the stranger exclaimed, flustered, "What are you… what do you think you—"

Remus looked at him sternly, one arm still on his shoulder.

"I thought that you couldn't do it."

"Do what?" the man exclaimed, agitated.

Remus rolled his eyes and smiled wryly. "You told me," he said patiently, "that you couldn't morph."

Remus watched, half way between bemused and angry, as the old man changed before his eyes into limp haired and embarrassed Nymphadora Tonks.

After a few moments of sheepishness, Tonks quickly regained he anger at Remus.

"I can't morph into what I usually am! I can't have cheery pink hair! I merely morphed into what I felt—despairing and jaded."

Lupin let go of her shoulder. He reflected on their conversation. He had admitted so much. He had told her, indirectly, that he loved her. He had laid his fears down on the table. How could she deceive him in such a way? He had every right to be furious—

Except he wasn't.

Because she was right.

Remus felt his features soften. If she would only look up at him again, she would see his forgiveness and his confirmation of his own folly. But she continued to look downward. She wouldn't make this easy.

"When did you know?" she asked.

"When you tripped," he said frankly, "That added to your movements and those eyes." He brushed her hair out of her face, "You will never be able to morph those eyes."

She looked up at him, finally, hopeful.

"You finally made me listen to you, didn't you?" he asked grimly.

She nodded.

"And now, I've finally listened."

She nodded.

"I'm sorry, Tonks. You're right. You always have been. I may lose you tomorrow or in eighty years, but I don't think I could ever regret any moment we ever spent together."

She nodded.

"Forgive me?" He asked, flinching. He held out his hand.

She took it.

Remus cupped her face, her adorable heart shaped face, with his other hand. He slowly bent down to kiss her when to his surprise and delight, she met him halfway.

After they had broken apart a few moments later, breathless as a result of the kiss and the significance of the moment, Tonks finally spoke.

"We're going to be late, Remus. I didn't really plan for this to happen before the funeral. I was thinking that you might find me on a windswept plain…"

"And you were so sure of success?"

"I knew if I could just get you to stop that litany of too old, too poor, too dangerous…"

"You never really did address the "too poor," my dear."

"Oh, shove it, Lupin."

She smiled at him cheekily, joyfully. He smiled back. He hadn't smiled for so long. She took his hand again and pulled him towards the Hogwarts gates.

This time, he followed her willingly and gladly, noticing her hair was delightfully pink.


End file.
